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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084472">Decorum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riemann_integrable/pseuds/Riemann_integrable'>Riemann_integrable</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Bottom Ferdinand von Aegir, Dirty Talk, Ferdinand's lively sexual life, Hair-pulling, Hallucinations, Light Masochism, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Breakdown, Multiple Partners, Mutual Pining, Promiscuity, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Suicidal Tendencies, Top Hubert von Vestra, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, War Trauma, separately not all at once?, there's too many things I will add tags if I forgot something, this is pre-error correction and posted at 4am</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:42:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,246</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084472</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riemann_integrable/pseuds/Riemann_integrable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>About Ferdinand's hair and those who are fascinated by it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>85</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Decorum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This really did start out as a fic about Ferdinand's hair. Then the scope of the topics widened and suddenly it was 8k words. My one thought is that you shouldn't have allowed me to put my grubby hands on ferdibert.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You have such lovely hair.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why, thank you” Ferdinand smiled and shifted his balance from one leg to the other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The General whimsically picked a strand to fondle between index and thumb. Both of them were, formally, humored. Jokes in a fancy parlor. All red and orange in its wallpaper and tablecloths, surely described as ‘homely’ in some unearned deluge of praise its guests usually unleashed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s setting a trend,” the General noted, “I saw plenty of young officers growing it out but none of them quite got to emulating yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand let out a short laugh for politeness’ sake. He locked eyes with the General and tried to make it look unintentional, as was his usual tactic. Everything had to be coated in a shallow polish of genuinity, not because he had a taste for being inauthentic (he hated it, in fact) but because his </span>
  <em>
    <span>acquaintances</span>
  </em>
  <span> did. So he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to put on that muted crimson brocade coat — even though it was a tad tight on his shoulders — all the while pretending it fit well, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tilt his head and act like his hair fell like that naturally.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh it’s nothing—” Ferdinand gesticulated with his glass of Adrestian red, “deliberate on my part. I’d recommend those young officers you speak of stop wasting their time on looks at war.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not everyone has the privilege of making the ladies’ heads turn with no effort, Captain von Aegir. Needs are needs, you must know that very well.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He decided, with some irony, that the General was being granted too many privileges with the strand of hair; so Ferdinand’s fingers ghosted over his, playfully removing them. Still very innocent-looking and still very intentional.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d rather they be attracted by my aura of nobility if I had a choice in the matter” he sighed wistfully. The other man’s eyes were sharp over his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What remains of it, you surely mean.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand’s throat went dry for a second even though he’d just wetted it with a large sip of wine. He had to tense up so as not to show how much the words stung, mustering a smirk only after an exertion of facial muscles that felt monstrous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What remains of it and what is yet to be reconquered!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no doubts about your success with the endeavour.” The General seemed amused, more so than him for sure. “Still, were you ever in need of help, all you have to do is ask. I’d be happy to provide my support as a loyal subordinate — with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>reconquering</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ever so kind of you, General.” It was a response of impulse-courtesy, the ones kept in mind to avoid awkward silences. They made up a significant proportion of Ferdinand’s daily exchanges.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He remained mesmerized, for a second, by the elaborate decorations of the room. Everything was carefully arranged and kept in the same tones that varied between red, gold and orange; he could have been a part of the composition himself. The tassels of the curtain ties, a sort of bigger variant of the ones hanging from the pillows, were somehow the exact shade of his coat’s embroidering — but really, how much did he not want to be here if his attention was drawn to such things. Or he was spooked by the possibility of the home decor being put together </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. The air seemed twice its weight at the thought, and the General’s gaze, too. Ferdinand sat briskly on a padded chair; gold with a leaf motif. He’d owned more expensive ones himself but it wasn’t the worst.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I would like to ask, then,” he uttered the words when that dreaded conversational hollow got too long, as though invoking a spell, “for your greatly appreciated support. Likewise, I will do my best to assist all my subordinates.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That moment always came like the snap of a string. There were years of experience behind the look Ferdinand gave through the auburn cage of his lashes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something had changed within him in the past half a decade. Slowly, more gradually than expected; people used to be impressed his attitude came out unscathed from first his father’s dismissal, then the war and all that followed. The average person — Edelgard once told him, not at all repentant — would have lost their mind or at least their self-respect. Except he wasn’t ‘the average person’; he was Ferdinand von Aegir. A relentless optimist, a man who smiled in the face of slaughter, a future prime minister— it was part of the optimism itself that he was still convinced of the latter, because there was no possible outcome, no universe where he would have given up on the title. He had that going for him. For better or for worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cracks began to show. Or, a more accurate metaphor would have been the vivacity of a colour fading under friction and growing into a recognizable but duller shade of itself. The literal colours didn’t fade. Ferdinand’s fiery red hair and penchant for pompous outfits was as time-resistant as ever, even though his voice was acquiring a different background note, a gentle and quiet one. In battle he would destroy with no mercy, and then he would return to the base in a silent fatigue, finding himself without a willingness to argue. Non-confrontational. Diplomacy was the word that sounded the best for it, albeit probably not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yet another </span>
  <em>
    <span>diplomatic </span>
  </em>
  <span>effort was his chasing the remorse away, on evenings when his eyes were pried open by it and his body was rock solid from tension under a layer of sweat. When he realized that each time he drove a spear through an enemy he sincerely, from the bottom of his heart hoped he would miss and get maimed to death. Something always seemed so crooked about how unstoppable the Strike Force was, how strong he’d become, how everyone who could place the blame on the Empire was dead before they did. It was common sense, Ferdinand reasoned, that it wouldn’t sit well. Something within him was drained of the enjoyment the victories were supposed to bring, having lost all comparison by never experiencing hopelessness and a fear for his own life; maybe it wasn’t normal on his part, he started considering at one point. None of his ex-classmates felt the same. So, instead of questioning them, Ferdinand started moving around in the circles of lower army ranks — looking for what, he wasn’t sure when he started.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He made two major discoveries in the long series of dinners and polite tea afternoons. The first one was the bitterness, the underlying envy of his subordinates. They dared not speak of it directly but it was evident from the pauses only filled by the clinking of cutlery as they pieced up their steaks at long tables with ornate cloths. The second discovery was that sometimes all that stumbled out of Ferdinand at the subtle accusations of feudalistic decadence were soft apologies and agreement; and his men could see it. They threw them at him in the first place because he was so desperate to please.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And so it should have been to nobody’s surprise. That one day an army official would sneak a hand onto the small of Ferdinand’s back and he would arch into it. His hair was only shoulder-length at the time, just long enough to form those charming corkscrews that looked like an intentional hairdo rather than his disinclination to chop them off. He had smiled at the gesture, spun just a few degrees towards the man and tried, once again, to look interested rather than disinclined to oppose. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The conversation hadn’t been long but several hours of discomfort were crammed into its duration. It was brought up: something about noble obligations. Half-mockingly, subtly alluding to the Aegir lineage losing their entire fortune — but Ferdinand had long put himself past feeling despondent about it and the curl of his lips remained unwavering. It had been a challenge he tossed in the way of the official (not even important enough to remember his name); he had stepped closer as if saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>try me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>try my patience and my optimism</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To someone else it could have looked like Ferdinand wanted to prove the stability of those concepts to the world, but maybe it was intended for himself first and foremost. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He got brutally fucked into the official’s mattress the same evening. Face down into a pillow of unfamiliar scent, experiencing just how easily a sweaty hand would tangle into that grown-out hair. Ferdinand had, since they’d entered the bedchambers, done everything that was asked of him with quiet surrender. If he’d imagined something like this during his academy days, he wouldn’t have doubted it was at least going to be unpleasant — but that night every recess of his brain was flooded with some numb carnal excitement. The cock slamming back into him that had him curve his back and contort his muscles was something between a punishment and distraction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Attending to others’ needs had always been his priority.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There had been many more. Ferdinand didn’t doubt the General would be the same because nobody summons a person to their parlor for tea past ten in the evening, he was plenty smart enough to know that. As the other man seemed oddly insistent in stroking that single lock of satiny ginger after picking it up again, his eyes began darting around awkwardly, musing on which sofa he preferred. He silently hoped for pillows. He was supposed to be horseback riding tomorrow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was on his knees within the next hour. It was, in fact, odd that the encounter would get dragged out when Ferdinand had so obviously come to </span>
  <em>
    <span>repent</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as he liked to put it to himself. His eyes downcast pools of amber, he expertly concentrated on suppressing his gag reflex to fit the General’s entire length down his throat — he was either getting too used to the smell of sweat, cum and pubic hair, or the room’s colour scheme was bright enough to daze his senses. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The General was cupping the side of his head, likely an excuse to touch that texture again, a repulsive sort of affection Ferdinand didn’t like but that he could understand. He knew what the other saw while he was sucking him off. Or at least what he would fixate on; the unbuttoned shirt open over his chest, the lips, the sparse freckles, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the hair, always the hair</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a delight to look at” the General breathed out in half a groan while his grip tightened and he held his nape in place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Being in no position to speak, Ferdinand answered with a mewl of protest, flexing the muscles of his thighs and straightening his back. He was making scenery. Adjusting the aesthetic details. It was something he liked to do, as well as a big part of what aroused him, though he wouldn’t have admitted it: the setup, his acting absolutely debauched in these expensively furnished palaces, something out of a painting albeit one that would have been hung in private quarters alone. He felt himself grow harder in his breeches. The General was aiding the bobs of his head and looked more and more self-satisfied by the second.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The von Aegir heir. I was incredulous at first, but you are, after all, a complete slut.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand looked downwards once again, lashes on his cheeks which some blood was pooling into. He pressed his tongue against the cock in his mouth as an affirmation in the next motion and breathed in through his nose. His knees were starting to go numb. He’d kept his hands carefully in his lap all throughout, one folded into the other, well aware of how hated his battle calluses were. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What definitely didn’t improve the state of those hands was having to grip an armrest at full strength when the General forced himself into his ass in a throaty exhale. He’d ended up with the ungenerous share of a single cushion under his back, a misplaced one at that, and Ferdinand didn’t dare voice that the wood pressing into his side was more painful than the sex. He hated complaining. At least the General had been wise enough to employ some roughness, to focus on his own satisfaction instead of the other’s looks, which was the best way the affair could have gone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Ferdinand was moaning away, trying to keep still with his legs wide, a smile creeping its way onto his face. He felt as though he was of use when the man came inside of him. It made a wave of euphoria wash over his body. The horrific crimes tied to his name and the blood on his hands were drowned in a pheromonal mess of harsh copulation, the dignity he’d so carefully maintained soiled tatter by tatter as he was spread open and defiled. Good thing he’d had the decency to safeguard something he could give up to pay for his deeds, he thought. This abstract concept if not else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He always came out of these encounters stunned, sticky and with diminished charisma. There would usually be a carriage waiting — Ferdinand requested one each time. He absolutely refused to spend the night in such places, the attractive of them wore off way quicker than that; he still remembered the one time they hadn’t come quickly enough to collect him and he had to wait, after all the lights had been turned off in the manor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oddly, he’d felt scared. He rarely did. He was a frontline captain. But seeing the same rooms divested of their bright glory and covered in shadows had gotten him in the gut somehow; what the uneasiness stemmed from exactly, he could only guess though. It also reminded him of Hubert, on an even odder note, like the man was going to appear from behind an obscured corner. In his state of delirium maybe Ferdinand truly hoped he would slit his throat with a dagger the way he often half-jokingly threatened. Luckily, the carriage wasn’t excessively late, and the fantasy was cut short. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he sat in them on the way home Ferdinand’s thought process was always blissfully halted. He concentrated on the here-and-now, on the clack of horseshoes on cobblestone, the humid night breeze emanating from the window. It elevated a few of his renown ginger locks and blew them against his forehead every once in a while, ruffled them into a feathered mess that would be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pain</span>
  </em>
  <span> to brush, wash and untangle. If he’d had a pair of scissors with him on the particular evening he was returning from the General, he would have impulsively gone berserk on that damned hair; he would have cut close to his scalp, become unrecognizable. After regaining some calm he then inwardly assessed that maybe he had been, literally, fucked out of his mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was the question, he pondered when he shut himself in his Garreg Mach quarters again, to cut or not to cut. Over time the more men had grabbed a fistful of that hair, the more it seemed to weigh on Ferdinand’s neck. It served a function. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Diplomacy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if one could call it that. But the comments — he thought as he loosened the cravat he’d hastily retied less than two hours ago — he loathed the comments. The spiteful little remarks people made, perhaps out of jealousy, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he must have been trying so hard to be pretty, like a common whore</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes he was genuinely more offended about the ‘common’ part. Other times he thought those so-called </span>
  <em>
    <span>common whores</span>
  </em>
  <span> were having a lot more fun, or at least letting off more steam.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hair comments — Hubert. Why was he thinking about what hair comment Hubert would make. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s obnoxious,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he would have surely said. Ferdinand threw himself onto the embroidered sheets, face-down with no composure. His little remaining field of vision was obscured by those curly locks on his face’s sides. The upcoming month-end battle was surely what was causing his bad mood, he’d tried his utmost to convince himself, it had nothing to do with the lower ranks he slept with or Hubert or his imagined opinion of his looks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The room was candlelit and Ferdinand finally dragged himself up to undress, deciding that it was too late and he would leave the shower for tomorrow. He reeked but also lacked the willingness to care. His clothes came undone indument by indument, until he was completely naked, catching a glimpse of himself in an armour piece on the floor he nearly stumbled on. Maybe, in that moment, part of him secretly hoped he would look worse than expected, that he’d be able to shake his head in exasperation and wonder what everyone saw in him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>None of that. He was still stunning, a display of trained muscle and freckles, with the sophistication and delicacy of a statue and the red hair of legendary witches. Seventeen-year-old him would have wanted to be exactly like this; Ferdinand knew quite well that he wasn’t careful enough with what he wished for. The cause he was fighting for, too, had been a genuine desire (he wasn’t just Edelgard’s lapdog, unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>certain people</span>
  </em>
  <span>) but fragmented images of steel tearing into flesh still lingered in his mind. A stench of death he was more than happy to cover up with that of lousy sex. And his curls, wild in the battlefield wind, dyed an even deeper red at the ends.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand preferred to be pleasant and orderly. He kept his promise to himself and thoroughly washed up the next day, with so much care that when he sat down for breakfast the traces of last night were — at least physically — gone as though they’d never existed. It was a morning of drab atmosphere where even in his silence he seemed to be the most lively among the Strike Force. He bit his bread bun in small portions as his glance darted back and forth; a few seats from him Caspar was unusually dejected (and past his routine exercise), Edelgard’s face was furrowed by premature lines of stress,... Hubert took a while to notice, blending into the setting sun’s light conditions as he brewed coffee at the kitchen counter. Ferdinand was sure speaking to any of them would result in a falling out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything to do today?” He’d made it a collective question, the only way he could think of not to address anyone specifically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Edelgard shook her head — she was sat across — and very visibly held back a yawn before placing down her tea cup. Lately she had been odd, too informal for an emperor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Minor strategic readjustments. I’d say the day is free for the rest of you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If I’m allowed to intervene, Your Majesty,” Hubert nearly gave both of them a heart attack as he appeared by the seat next to hers with fuming coffee in hand, “those readjustments are rather important.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing you won’t get done in the course of an hour, knowing you” Edelgard’s eyes closed with a sigh. She picked up the tea again to slowly blow on it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh but I’m curious, now that you mention it.” Ferdinand stretched his arms as he interrupted, a mass of ginger tumbling down his back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it was one of the first instances he took note of it; of Hubert giving him </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>weighty frowns. It made him freeze in the middle of the motion despite those viper eyes being more focused on the airy linen blouse he was wearing rather than his own.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t bother,” Hubert ended up muttering after awkward seconds, “to each their own area of expertise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You just said we would all work on it, make up your mind at once.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After his response was ignored, Ferdinand took an irritated sip from his own cup and threw in an addendum.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Or, if you don’t want me around, then tell me clearly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well, I don’t want you around.” Hubert’s defiant sardonism was perhaps more offensive than if he’d wholeheartedly meant the phrase.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In that second something was dragged out of the pits of Ferdinand’s mind, something left buried since seventeen, as he sharpened the edge of his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s brilliant, because I was going to go riding” he spat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>True to his word, he stormed out with a sour and liberating anger, straight to the stables. It was still chilly and the last thing he was in the mood for was walking all the way back to his room to grab a waistcoat; his lower arms were erupting in a copper fluff of goosebumps under the light shirt. Fresh air and a lack of people… Things he didn’t often long for but now was one of the rare times he did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand nudged the grey mare into moving with all the necessary caution and took the back road, descending along the steep walls of the hill prudently. Closer to sea level the vegetation was slightly different than at the monastery; the latter, had it not had every square meter built on, was rather a biosphere for pines, while at the hill’s feet oak thickets were more frequent. It was the environment Ferdinand was looking for, those early spring not-quite-in-bloom trees with their cold greens and browns, smudged by the morning mist like an impressionist painting. He had to take care for his horse not to tangle into brambles after a mile of trotting or so.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The aim was hiding. Seclusion. Rather impulsively decided, Ferdinand stated to himself, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>necessary</span>
  </em>
  <span> as there had been a strain in the back of his throat for the past couple of hours, or… more, now that he thought of it. He liked blaming it all on the attitude of people like Hubert, but really, that was just the last straw on an ever-growing heap. He proceeded among the bushes with an urgency leading him to no definite place other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>away</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and in doing so caught sight of a split branch that for a second he mistook for an arm ripped out of its socket— A headspin. His hands snatching at points of purchase on the mare’s neck. When Ferdinand finally felt like he wasn’t about to tumble off the saddle he focused on evening out his breaths, one wheeze in and one wheeze out, again and again, until he was present enough to dully stare at the long, stray red hairs before his eyes and mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The horse continued on without too much of a bother and the sun began to peek out from behind the dampness. Only a phantom image of the branch remained —  and the idea in Ferdinand’s mind that someone should have twisted his arm behind his back just like that until he would cry tears, either of joy or pure catharsis. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something about that one meadow felt intimate. Or maybe it was that the persisting ache — especially in his side — and his mental imagery had gotten him tired of riding, but either way, he set his mount down at the edge of a small clearing. The spot he deemed best, under a large oak, was a tad farther away and the rays filtered in intermittent spots. Ferdinand nearly threw himself down after he’d spread the blanket he used as a saddle pad. His ears were filled with background rustles and forest noises, and his pulse, quick and regular, traveling from vertiginous remnants of thought processes to something in his gut. He lazily fixated on his thighs as they shifted and how the fabric settled against the muscle above his kneecap and the slender curve behind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d really just come all the way here because Hubert decided to be a prick. It was ridiculous but also a little sad.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Being desperate, which Ferdinand didn’t like admitting to very often, had terrible side-effects. And out of all of them the worst one yet was not being able to tell affection from degradation anymore, a deep confusion about how anyone even felt for him; whether the people he spoke to wanted to strangle him barehanded for being a despicable, apathetic murderer, or they wanted to make love to him or — Goddess forbid — give him a hug. He lived in a deep fear that this uncertainty, too, served to embellish the number of people who most definitely hated him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed himself back until he was leaning against the tree trunk behind him. His hands, unpleasantly rough and caked in sweat, dragged up his face as he took a few heavy breaths, gradually covering his eyes and combing into his fringe. In a mocking insistence that seemed almost targeted at him, the sunlight continued on just as brightly through the branches above the meadow and the blackbirds never ceased to chirp.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nobody would find him here. It was the only thought that reassured Ferdinand as he relaxed into a more comfortable, half-lying position. Nobody — including Hubert; no, especially him, because he wouldn’t have searched anyway, considering how much he hated Ferdinand’s company. Perhaps even hated </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as a person. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The reasoning regressed, once again, to his desperation. He undid his breeches with his pulse felt right up to the temples. Against his naked skin, the spring breeze felt a bit chilly, but at least it served to jolt him back from the trance somewhat. Ferdinand took a last look around before circling his cock with one hand, undisturbed as he’d lost any kind of shame years and years back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had to swear to himself more than once that it was a bizarre one-time fantasy. His head tilted back into the bark as he stroked himself, one of his knees bending up unwittingly. Behind his closed eyelids the fingers trailing across his body were covered in gloves and smelled like dried blood and the bleach that had been used to remove it. Insults, ones that these times remained on a bitten tongue out of courtesy but that were just about to burst out, the ones Ferdinand so wanted to hear. A whine escaped him against his will, lost to the bushes and trees surrounding him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert would have been violent. Angry, inexperienced and frustrated. Ferdinand wanted him to look at him with insatiable hunger, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted him to want him</span>
  </em>
  <span> until it drove them both past the limits of sanity. And perhaps the thought was only part of a sexual fantasy but Ferdinand considered that there was no point to his looks and his escapades besides sending Hubert seething, because the guilt he tried to exorcise was just never gone but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hubert</span>
  </em>
  <span>, entrenched in the filth of war as much as him — he would have saved him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand spat on his palm to ease his strokes as his back began to slide downwards with the spasmodic jolts of his hips. The minor fall was cushioned by the grass around and underneath the blanket, some of his hair landing on its contrasting bright green. As he masturbated to completion in the secrecy of the woods he could feel the edge of his mouth coil upwards, moans resonating from deep that he let out for an added indignity. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Riding back was less mortifying than he thought it would be; on contrary, he felt as though his mood had improved and maybe he would even be capable of social interaction without snapping. With the </span>
  <em>
    <span>majority</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his companions, that is… Seeing an unmistakable black cloak near the stables at his return made him stop, as a metaphorical rock was suddenly sinking him down from the pits of his stomach. It was a bit late to turn around, though he was tempted to, and instead he dismounted with a discretion he didn’t think he was capable of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert’s eyes were searing into him. For a moment Ferdinand — who rarely resorted to violence or impoliteness in everyday life — felt like backhanding him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s with the hair anyway?” It was only a matter of time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You tell me.” Ferdinand glared back with disdain, tying the reins. “What is it with it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It must inconvenience you in battle. Surely there’s a good reason you kept it, then.” Hubert scratched his chin as if he were making one of his oh-so-objective analyses but who was he fooling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bold words for someone who can’t even handle a lance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The retort had its effect because Hubert was stifled out of a response for at least a minute or two, reluctantly continuing to make ticks on the paper he was holding — a resource assessment? Whatever un-exciting work Edelgard had tasked with him today. Ferdinand would have felt justified calling him a horribly boring man if he hadn’t just fantasized about him less than an hour ago. The wind picked up a bit, then, as a scenic element to the increasing tension, and caught into Hubert’s monotone garments and Ferdinand’s linen blouse and hair. It had fallen open — the blouse — on his morning journey, he noticed now, and a single glint of a stare made him suspect the other had, too. Just thinking about the scorn probably directed at him made him feel insulted again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thankfully, for once, he wasn’t left with enough time to go down yet another spiral. In the end Edelgard summoned the war council, which included him despite the dispute at breakfast, and Ferdinand felt so much gratitude he thought he would press a kiss onto her hand from one moment to the next. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The discussion put the atmosphere into context to an extent; it was some dealing with Enbarr and the rest of the Imperial Household, the one problem both her and Hubert continued to procrastinate — out of some deep-rooted fear, Ferdinand was almost sure, though neither was the type of person to confess to it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We have a battle in two weeks’ time,” Edelgard sat back down at the table circle, red gloves over a stack of documents, “I’m sure none of you will be surprised to hear we can’t entertain another conflict right now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hubie must have something </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> important to do here for you not to have sent him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To fight Arundel? Alone?” Caspar was in as much disbelief at Dorothea’s comment as everyone else was at his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To </span>
  <em>
    <span>negotiate.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Hubert emphasized with some near-primordial vitriol transpiring from his voice. Not purely towards the misunderstanding, that much was evident, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Linhardt, leaning on his wrist half-comatose and seen for the first time that day, was the one to surprisingly interrupt the subsequent silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t like the guy a whole lot. I can see how it would be counterproductive.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Hubert could elaborate on the statement — which he </span>
  <em>
    <span>visibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> agreed with — the reaction bursted out of Ferdinand with a shine in his eyes. It brought his good sides out, the possibility to be useful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I will go then. I’ve done this before.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Offered before I could order you. Exemplary as always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>captain</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Edelgard’s lips curled into a half-smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A noble duty, Your Majesty. The rest of you stay here, and I’ll see to it that the negotiations be over sooner than month’s end.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand had begun to get up, no instruction needed to change into travel gear immediately, but despite his attempts to avoid it, his gaze eventually crossed Hubert’s. Time didn’t stop. The scene in the war council room didn’t, either. Edelgard was definitely still issuing orders with the obfuscated spring sunlight falling on the Strike Force’s wartorn faces, but it blended into the background — for an instance it was all staggeringly less relevant than the thin crease on Hubert’s forehead. The way he bit his lower lip as if the urge to interject was so strong he had to physically hold himself back. And he never would have said whatever he had to say, of course. Foolish to expect him to argue with Edelgard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Whenever he’d started having expectations anyhow, Ferdinand shook his head, merely gesticulating to his lonesome as he treaded back to get the needed papers thirty minutes later. The series of arches by the garden led steadily to a darker area, cooler than the one in the open, and he was reminded to tighten his cravat. Not a crease in his outfit — a navy blue and cream arrangement — and his hair let loose and combed just enough to make one wonder if it had been. It was time to tick Arundel off the ever-growing list, it seemed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand’s foot got half-caught in a gap between one sandstone and the next as he lurched. His head spun and he was thrown back into reality.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You—,” he swung his words back with the same momentum that caught him off guard, “It must be a useful council meeting without the lead strategist.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You might as well return to it too, I came to notify.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert was, in the rush and series of incautious movements, closer to him than his liking. At a distance where the few inches he had on Ferdinand made themselves felt, and where Ferdinand got an accurate idea of the precise shape of his cheekbones to insert in delirious daydreaming.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” He shook his head with enough speed that his curls bounced ever so slightly to the side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m telling you to—” Hubert took a pause, constructing the right wording, “To tend to your troops and rest rather than rushing out like a fool.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In response came the smile, again, natural-looking and forced. Ferdinand threw in a chuckle as well while he took a sidestep to continue on his trajectory and briefly closed his eyes, exasperated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The lengths you’ll go just to contradict me. Admirable, Hubert.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he felt the pressure closing around his wrist, it gave the impression of an attack. Caught outright violently. Ferdinand looked again, blinked back and forth between the combination of hands, the midday sun in the distance, and the green of the other’s eyes behind the shadow cast over his face. His bones weren’t so easy to break but the gesture sure had traces of that intent. He felt the blood in his body pool in all the wrong places for a mere moment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll send Arundel a damn letter” Hubert hissed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe he made it clear he wanted to sp—” Ferdinand’s reaction was cut off with a volume high enough to drown out his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It will get there sooner than you will.” The grasp on his wrist tightened almost painfully. “And it will be more convincing than you tossing your hair around.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The courtyard’s temperature suddenly seemed to drop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dry, too — Ferdinand’s throat was too dry to speak, as if filled with unbreathable gas, and the discomfort of the accusation coupled with that of not knowing </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> any of it bothered him. His pristinely arranged clothes felt uncomfortable, ridiculous, like something put on just to go with the scene, like the colour of his pants was purely there to harmonize with the sandstone’s highlights. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Her Majesty agreed I should go.” The sentence was but a flat string of words. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had no idea what the other man’s expression meant, or his pulse that he could feel through the glove, nor did he care since— Of course he knew he slept around, Ferdinand would have never debated that notion, so all he wished was Hubert didn’t sound so </span>
  <em>
    <span>betrayed</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it because it was throwing off the image of him being unfazed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She will also agree to you not going once she’s heard the refutation.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not here on her request.” Ferdinand blinked, repeating the thought out loud to confirm it to himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed I’m not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s—” He laughed, shoving the nervousness forcibly to the back of his thoughts, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>unusual</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not, under any circumstances, get close to Arundel.” Hubert still hadn’t let go, petulant attitude accompanied with a primal anger that wasn’t common of him either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder why me seeing him drives you so mad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand had to at least get the last word. But he found himself tearing his wrist away (the necessary force wasn’t much at all) and taking a few steps back towards where he came from, glaring the other in the eyes with some frustrated disbelief. Hubert looked as though he didn’t want to deign him with an answer, or he found the argument futile, but neither did he budge. Tentatively, Ferdinand backed away farther into the light, and the blue of his jacket was suddenly almost dizzying in its brightness. There were enough meters between him and Hubert’s statue-like form that he had to speak louder to pile more onto the banter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And since you’re so obsessed with my hair,” his brown eyes, still so warm, a counterattack, “I shall cut you a lock to keep under your pillow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert replied something but it wasn’t more than a mutter and Ferdinand was already leaving. He ended up never retrieving those papers — or traveling to Enbarr — but he’d been let off the council too, leaving the afternoon unbearably to himself. During it he spent an inordinate amount of time sitting on the edge of his bed, unable to lie down, trying to backpedal on images of all the ways he would have been used on his </span>
  <em>
    <span>diplomatic trip</span>
  </em>
  <span>, had he gone. He was almost certain it was one of the times he would have stifled back some emotional outburst and apologized while getting fucked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It routinely weirded the officials out. What those repeated sobs of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ were for, what Ferdinand felt so remorseful about, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t apologize, captain, you take it so well</span>
  </em>
  <span> — and Ferdinand would smile because he loved being told, but it was a temporary relief like getting wine drunk. Those words were permanently on his lips, just like the insults were for everyone around him; he said them out loud to the walls of his room, once again, getting a taste. In a continuous narration it would have looked like he was asking for Hubert’s forgiveness though he had no reason to and the man wouldn’t have given it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And then the creases of the sheets between his fingers were like tendons, the ceiling’s angles were oblique, and he had to breathe out through his nose. On his nightstand was a hunting knife, unsheathed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What a good arrangement of aesthetics would it be to have bright red spill all over it. For the silky, severed strands to fall everywhere on the wooden floor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The evening was frantic. Ferdinand’s breathing wouldn’t settle to normal. He reached the rationalization that being bent over some piece of furniture would knock the air back into his lungs; but then the umpteenth unmemorable colonel’s fringe was </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> black enough and it fell </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that on his forehead— and Ferdinand pointedly refrained from kissing him even once out of sheer shame. The hold on his waist felt routine and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> worried the sexual act would lose its entire momentum until the other man grabbed a cluster of his hair to yank his head back forcefully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next five seconds, Ferdinand wasn’t entirely sure what happened. All he knew was that someone was yelling and begging with so much power it sounded like an execution rather than intercourse, and then the realization that the voice was his own. He’d shut his eyes and sunk down to impale himself on the cock below him as he writhed and thrashed and </span>
  <em>
    <span>clawed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dug both his hands’ and feet’s nails into viable skin. The moan after that was halfway a choking noise and Ferdinand was first just stupefied that his lungs remained as empty as his guts were full — it took the sniff of his nose to realize he was crying. Through the gloss of tears he watched flashes of the full ginger lock that had remained in his partner’s fist. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A day went by like a single throb of his temples. Weapon practice where earlier bruises blended in among new ones, his ex-classmates’ voices ringing like they were always speaking in the next room. His hair, which he didn’t brush at all </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> keep out of his face in any way, now collecting grime in big knots. A remnant of ache on his scalp.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand’s bare shoulders were bulking up from blood supply after hours of going at it with Caspar, always lifting the sword one time more than he thought he could take. Neither of them were quite specialized in it. It was sloppy. He also looked more like a savage, although one covered in a multitude of freckles, unable to keep the battle roars in every once in a while. Ferdinand swung. He moved forward unstoppably. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something had been irreparably damaged in his self-control. It was unbecoming. He knew Caspar could see it as he sparred with him, see that the brakes were off — it was a relief that he was capable of defending himself. Then he crumbled on his knees, panting, suddenly being asked if he was fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, Caspar, it’s quite alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he wanted to add this was an insignificant amount of sweat and pain to him but found it impolite. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The layers of dirt felt so encrusted that, after a bath, Ferdinand evaluated it as perfectly pointless. Already looming around eight, evening came upon his drenched locks in an out of sight spot of the garden.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you send the letter?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert seemed so perplexed Ferdinand was even trying to talk to him that doing so was worth it for the face alone. He put his evening stroll on hold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I did, yes. Did you…” He shook his head when the other man tilted his own with a questioning look. “Nevermind.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was an inherent tension in idling by a hedge at nighttime, staring at each other. It took effort not to read too much into it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t fret, Hubert,” Ferdinand turned towards the scarcity of stars typical of cloudy weather, “I’ll cut all of it anyway. It bugs my sense of nobility horribly to have you take issue with my conduct.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your hair—” The slight aggressive tremble in Hubert’s voice was enough to make him turn; “—is the least of concerns about your </span>
  <em>
    <span>conduct</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is, though, the only one I can help you with.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They took a step towards one another almost simultaneously. Some bug was buzzing next to them in the bushes to fill the silence and the darkness was beginning to settle, painting the subject of debate a dark, muddy scarlet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ferdinand.” It was low, quiet, nearly whispered. “Thank you for not going to Enbarr.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It caught the other off guard, and with his filter missing, he sputtered back on impulse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did you not want me to?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert, inscrutable, glanced to the side without answering. His bangs were so pitch black against his light skin — Ferdinand took particular note of it — and he had those sharp angles to his face that looked quite captivating in the dim light. If his curiosity was ever going to be sated, it would be something along the lines of the journey being dangerous, Hubert’s personal worry circumnavigated with intricate wording,—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because this isn’t relieving you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand lunged, battle reflexes triggered within a split second, and his hands were fisting the collar of Hubert’s shirt, calluses catching in the fabric. His knuckles turned white as he kept them up, tense, just under where their gazes met. Hubert stared him down with a bone-chilling calm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then give me something that will!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The scream sounded distant and still rung in his ears when they kissed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Within ten minutes Ferdinand’s fingers were digging dents on Hubert’s upper arms, some sound he couldn’t discern stuck in the back of his airways. It was becoming a mess of tangles and frills and his hair everywhere on the sheets, an overwhelming amount of visual detail. Hubert breathed and lapped at his jawline with a sensation that felt ridiculously new against his skin. His voice was suffocated and dry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t bear looking at you” he said. “You were so beautiful it terrified me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His heart sank. It was the longest second of his life when Ferdinand realized he didn’t mind hearing it. His hands were grasping, looking for a stable hold higher and higher along Hubert’s angular shoulder blades, trying to find their way around the vast expanse of his back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hubert,” he mouthed as though possessed, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hubert</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m so happy,—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t sound happy the way he said it. Something about the hold engulfing him tensed up and hardened. Ferdinand tried again, grinding upwards, looking for the words to finish the sentence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m so happy you don’t hate me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a bloody low standard” Hubert snapped at him, venomous. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand found his gaze often following the other’s hands in the last glow of the dying candle, mesmerized when they roamed his chest — they were darkened, scrapy and cold, and they smelled vaguely of ozone. It was more accentuated when Hubert had two fingers in him; the chill traversed Ferdinand’s whole body with a jolt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nh, hah,...” He almost muttered yet another an apology next but was silenced by a hurried kiss with a lot of saliva and teeth. Hubert pulled away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Repent.” He curled his fingers and Ferdinand cried out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The movement had a certain brutality, then, but it was frantic with investment instead of the nonchalance he would get from anyone else. Or so Ferdinand liked to believe— The flash of light green eyes between his spread knees was briefly replaced with something mangled and unrelated, and he tossed and turned, delirious, among a sea of red streams. He felt the hand pull away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His lower arms had compulsively shot up to cover his eyes as he contorted, trying to hide his face in the pillow. Oddly enough his cock stiffened; there were definitely too many emotions he perceived as arousal. He could suddenly feel Hubert above him, his length pressing against his own, palm collecting the beads of sweat rolling down one of Ferdinand’s thighs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hubert,” he gave a smile, eerie and ghostlike, vision still obscured, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck me. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to— To </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You shall not, then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert flipped him around. Ferdinand let himself be flipped. The hand in his hair was tangling it into a mess as it pushed his head downwards, some of the knots were wet with remnants of the cheap lubricant they’d had on them. Without a second notice he was full of Hubert’s cock, and he wailed, mind going numb as his insides were stretched out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was no moral authority, no justice, no aggrandizement. It was only the two of them, the filth, Hubert fucking him at a punishing rhythm. Raw and imperfect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t stop” Ferdinand egged him on, voice lost between slaps of skin that hadn’t sounded quite as obscene before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Almost as though out of spite, the other took a moment to pull him up by the chin, so that he was grabbing onto the headboard with his back bending into a concave arch. He thrust into his ass again and Ferdinand smiled wider, with the closest semblance of genuine happiness. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He would have had you like this” Hubert snarled into his ear from behind, rolling his hips with more momentum.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder</span>
  </em>
  <span>…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t a call for competition but Ferdinand didn’t mind it being taken for one. Hubert reached around to stroke his length and it felt acutely real compared to all the fantasies, he found himself making a parallel— He went blank when the other’s cock abruptly hit just the right spot, eyes widening in a mixture of bliss and shock.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>FUCK</span>
  </em>
  <span>…!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So much for civility” Hubert grunted as he slammed back in from the same angle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ferdinand took ahold of his jaw as much as he could manage from his position, sought out his mouth desperately to mute the snarky commentary. Each of their kisses got more desolate, and now a number of ginger strands partly intercepted them in a sloppy discomfort neither of them could bring himself to care about. Ferdinand came, nearly bawling, and urged Hubert not to pull out until he did too with a vise grip on his forearm. It was well-deserved; in both directions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He found himself staring blankly at the circles under Hubert’s eyes as they lay in bed beside each other. Those details, the dark lashes and the hollow cheeks, made something surface in Ferdinand’s gut that he wasn’t sure how to approach, or whether he was supposed to feel it. The only thing he was sure of was that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> not knowing what the other’s expression was meant to convey.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I’ll stop with the... casual affairs” he exhaled, then, attempting to sound lighthearted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for the additional feelings of inadequacy.” Hubert scoffed but there was a smirk underneath it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow Ferdinand was unable to speak in that moment. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t squeeze a single word out; it was endlessly frustrating because he wanted so very badly to tell Hubert he didn’t want anyone else, never had, and that he would have put up with any amount of gruesome imagery and nervous breakdowns if only he’d asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of all that, he kept quiet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hubert broke their silence, perhaps to put them both at ease, and there was just a hint of significance in his tone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But tie your hair back, at the very least.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ferdinand beamed softly when he finally had the strength, “I can do as much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
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</p>
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